Thank Frankel it’s Friday: Stirling Moss, a funny, kind and generous hero

As you will know, Stirling retired from public life some time ago so will not be at Goodwood this weekend, but he will doubtless be aware of the love and affection in which he is still held by his country, some 57 years after his enforced retirement from full time motor racing.

I’ve known the Boy Wonder for around 25 of those years. I first came across him in a lunch queue on the Mille Miglia in around 1995. Moss is a man blessed with many talents, but waiting in line is absolutely not among them, so he just marched to the front and was duly served. What interested me was that I’d be absolutely amazed if the people doing the serving had the slightest idea who he was, yet no one told him to get back in line. Short of stature though he is, he has this presence that few if any would choose to go up again.

I saw it again a few years later. Now we were friends not least because he believed that a story I ran on the cover of MotorSport magazine to celebrate his 70^th birthday was in some way connected to him receiving a knighthood shortly thereafter. He was, of course, entirely wrong: Stirling Moss became Sir Stirling Moss because he’s, well, Stirling Moss, and for no other reason.

But we had this amusing little gig for Orient Express magazine. In essence once a quarter I’d turn up at his place in an interesting car, we’d go for a drive, Stirling would talk about said car, I’d record the conversation, turn it into a ghosted column on his behalf and we’d split the fee.

Funnily enough, those drives always seemed to end up at Ikea in Brent Cross because there’s be some widget or item of furniture required by a tenant of one of the properties owned by Stirling in London. Remarkable though it seems, if you were one of these tenants and your boiler went out, it wasn’t a janitor or handyman who came round with a bag of spanners, but arguably the greatest driver this country has ever produced.

Watching Stirling in Ikea was an education all in itself. He’d park in the bit you were only allowed to use for collections, march into the store, extend an arm to grab a free tape measure without even looking and drape it around his neck, all without breaking step. He’d then get what he needed, if he couldn’t find it he’d walk up to a member of staff, interrupt whatever conversation he or she was having, find the goods, pay up and leave. It was like watching qualifying.

In the car he was as superb as you might expect on the open road, and absolutely merciless on congested London streets. I used to sink lower and lower in the passenger seat as he carved his way through the traffic.

And yet there was this other side to him too. On one of the earlier drives, we were heading out of town – presumably towards Ikea – when I got a call from my daughter’s nursery to say she’d managed to ram a shard of coconut up her nose and, the nanny state being what it was even 15 years ago, they were not allowed to insert a pair of tweezers into the aforementioned hooter to fish it out. Could I come and collect her? So there I was, being driven out of town in, I think, a Maserati driven by my hero and a man in whose company I remain to this day thoroughly star struck. Just how do you ask Stirling Moss to turn around and drive back into London so you remove a small slice of coconut from your daughter’s nose?

In fact there was no need. Stirling had been listening to the conversation, deduced what was required and was already on the roundabout above the dual carriageway and pointing the car back towards central London.

Those who come across Stirling for the first time might conclude him to be irascible and impatient, and clearly he can be all three. But take it from me that he is also kind, warm and one of the funniest people you could hope to know. Happy birthday Stirling and thanks for turning round.

Photography courtesy of Motorsport Images.